


Loneliness in Company

by NammiKisulora



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Canon Asexual Character, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Martin gets laid, and it only cements the Loneliness, set in season 4, the Beholding is a bitch, unhappy but consensual sex, whose eldritch patron decides to dump a second hand sexual experience on him supernaturally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28078569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NammiKisulora/pseuds/NammiKisulora
Summary: Martin should have realised it was a bad idea the second Peter smiled his awful Kindly Grandfather Smile and patted him on the shoulder, saying of course he should go have a drink!Sometime in mid-season 4, Martin decides he wants to unwind a bit, finds a hook-up that only proves just how isolated and entangled with the Lonely he has become. The Eye decides that Jon should know this, vividly.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Loneliness in Company

**Author's Note:**

> _Not_ a happy one, this.

Jon sips his tea (it isn’t _right_ , but it’s alright, Daisy made it for him and it’s… alright) and glances at the clock on the wall. It’s past eleven in the evening, he really ought to pack away his work for the night and settle down on the creaking cot for a few hours of –

He chokes on a mouthful of tea as Knowledge bursts into his mind, unwanted and unasked for: Martin, Martin sitting in bar just a few blocks away from the Institute, awkwardly chatting with a man in a suit and a sharp smile. Jon panics, what new monster is this? But no, it’s just a normal guy who’s buying Martin another drink and – Jon wrenches his mind away, slamming the door shut. Martin has asked him not to find him, told him he will do this alone, it is _not Jon’s place_ to supernaturally spy on him.

He takes another sip of tea and forces himself to concentrate on the notes before him, but they swim before his eyes. He’s tired and _hungry_ ; the statement he had earlier did not do much to sate his appetite. He should go lie down, try to sleep for a while… the dreams don’t sustain him, but every once in a while he actually gets to catch a few moments of sleep without them. Not often, but – sometimes.

The next rush of Knowledge hits him just as he makes to get up, pinning him to his seat. Martin in the stranger’s flat, in the stranger’s bed, being touched and touching – Jon gasps as a wave of pleasure mixed with aching loneliness washes over him; for a moment he’s unmoored from his body, only feeling what Martin feels, the aftershocks of orgasm tinged with such a deep sadness that tears burn at the corner of his eyes.

He comes back to himself, panting and dazed, nausea rolling in his stomach and cock half-hard in his trousers. He pitches forward with a whimper, forehead connecting with the desk with a dull thud.

-

Martin should have realised it was a bad idea the second Peter smiled his awful Kindly Grandfather Smile and patted him on the shoulder, saying of course he should go have a drink!

“You’ve been working so hard lately, take the chance to unwind a bit, Martin, and I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

 _Or not_ , Martin thinks as he shrugs into his jacket, heading off to the bar a few blocks down the road. He rarely sees Peter at all these days, but maybe he’s around more than Martin knows. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He walks fast through the building, hoping to reach the front doors without meeting anyone. Rosie should be gone for the day, at least.

He stops for a moment when he passes the stairs down into the Archives, hands clenched in his pockets. He knows Jon is down there, probably the others as well. _Jon_ . So close, and yet unreach- _No_. Martin bites his lip and shrugs, trying to shake off the longing to turn left instead of right. He’s got a job to do, and he can’t do that if he isn’t…

“Lonely”, he whispers to himself. “Heh, yeah, I always was, wasn’t I?” And so he turns right, quietly slipping out the door that locks itself behind him.

The bar isn’t crowded, not on a Tuesday night. Still, it isn’t empty by any means, and Martin immediately feels the pressure of so many people around as a physical weight, making it harder to breathe. He steels himself; he’d still like that drink, and turning in the door would just be silly, wouldn’t it? One drink, and then he can head back to his office and the cold, uncomfortable cot there. With a sigh, he makes his way to the bar, sitting down on one of the tall stools in front of it.

He orders a cheery, colourful drink with lots of fruit that disguises the taste of vodka and Cointreau. The bartender takes one look at him before adding a second umbrella and handing it over with a quiet “There you go, mate”. Martin forces a smile and a nod before turning his eyes to the coaster in front of him.

He’s nearly finished his drink when someone sits down on the stool next to him in a cloud of tasteful-just-on-the-verge-of-too-strong cologne. Martin startles, looking up from the umbrella he’s idly spinning on the bar’s shiny surface. The man smiles at him, a wide, toothy grin, before he turns to the bartender and orders a whiskey on the rocks and another of whatever Martin’s having. The bartender raises his eyebrow questioningly at Martin, who shrugs. Sure, another drink can’t hurt.

“Rough week?” the stranger asks as he loosens his tie. Martin shrugs again. _Rough week_ doesn’t really begin to cover is, does it?

“I guess”, he says, draining his glass as the bartender places another, identical drink in front of him – this time with only one umbrella in it. He sips at it as the stranger continues to make overly friendly small talk that Martin only gives monosyllabic replies to.

“I’m Steven”, the man suddenly says, thrusting out his hand. Too surprised to do anything else, Martin takes it.

“M-martin”, he stutters, the heat of Steven’s hand sending jolts through his system. How long has it been since he touched another human being? Weeks, months? Steven’s grip his firm, his palm dry and his gaze steady as he grins at Martin again.

“Pleasure to meet you, Martin”, he says, and Martin mumbles something he hopes is at least akin to acceptable. His hand tingles as Steven lets go, knocking back his whiskey and motioning for another. Suddenly he is very, very aware of the other man, sitting so close their thighs almost brush against each other. Martin swallows, his heart beating wildly. It’s been so long since he was this close to anyone, and it’s… strange, dizzying, almost disorienting. The last time he actually touched someone must have been when Jon first found him after his coma and awkwardly brushed his hand against his arm before Martin’s stiff posture made him back up a few steps.

Almost experimentally, Martin brushes his knee against Steven’s, so briefly it could be passed off as an accident. For a few seconds Martin holds his breath, waiting for – what _is_ he waiting for? Peter Lukas to burst out of a foggy corner to drag him back to the Institute? Or Jon to walk in and look sad at him? _I miss you_ , he’d said a week ago, and Martin had told him not to find him again. He takes a sip of his drink to steady himself, his leg buzzing with heat. He looks around, but no fog billows from under the bar, the room is still full of people, and Steven is grinning at him, an expectant gleam in his eyes.

Steven lives close by, it turns out. They don’t touch as they walk there; Martin keeps his hands clenched in his pockets to stop them from trembling, and where he just a few minutes before felt buzzing electricity at the thought of touching – _someone_ , he now only feels clammy fog.

Martin regrets his decision the second Steven pushes him up against he door, his kiss tasting of whiskey and brine. The flat is warm, but Martin shivers as he sheds his coat. Is it fog dimming the light, or is it just a bad bulb?

“Hey, you okay?” Steven pulls back and Martin realises he hasn’t been paying attention.

“Um”, he says. What does okay even mean in the context of his life? Then he forces a smile; he can do this. “Yeah. It’s just – been a while.” He reaches out, and Steven grins and moves in to kiss him again, a thin layer of half-imagined mist laying itself as a barrier between them.

The sex is – well, the sex is good. Steven clearly knows what he’s doing and Martin remembers that past boyfriends and temporary hookups in another lifetime never complained about the sex even when he was found lacking in every other area. Too shy, too poor, working too much, always having to cancel plans because something or other with his mum… He pulls himself back to the present with a shiver, blinking to relieve the burning in his eyes. Steven’s hands are cold against his hips, his voice muffled as by a heavy fog; Martin follows his lead, his body more than happy with going through the motions while his mind feels numb as ice.

Steven comes with a grunt and burst of erratic thrusts, his sweaty torso slick against Martin’s, who follows a moment later. Pleasure mingles with a Loneliness so acute that he can’t breathe, his throat too tight to make a single sound. He clings to Steven, digs his nails into his biceps and buries his face in his neck, searching for the scent of cologne from the bar, but all he smells is brine and mist.

When Steven goes to clean up, Martin barely waits for him to go through the bedroom door before quietly slipping out of bed and into his clothes. He can deal with the mess later, he just needs to – needs to go Away.

-

When Steven returns a minute later, naked and smiling lazily with a warm wash cloth in his hand, there is only a slight curling of mist left in the bedroom. He frowns in confusion, and his breath steams in the sudden chill. With a shiver he pulls his robe down from its hook beside the wardrobe. As he goes to check if the radiator has broken again, he misses the slight click from the front door swinging shut.

-

It’s a long time before Jon moves again, before the unwanted arousal dies down enough for him to breathe normally, and for his hands to unclench, leaving deep nail marks in his palms. His back aches as he straightens up and he scrubs angrily at his face, rubbing away the wetness there. He feels sick and exhausted, the ever-present ache of Martin’s absence swollen into a ragged, painful thing, tearing at his insides, tinged with a fierce jealousy of this stranger he refuses to know anything more about. Why did the Eye decide he should know this? He didn’t need it to know that he is not the one who can give Martin what he needs, whatever that might be – Martin himself made that clear enough. If – if Martin was simply lonely, why not seek out Jon? For a moment he allows himself to wonder how Martin would feel in his arms, face tightly tucked against his collarbone as Jon held him close enough to never, ever let the Lonely near him again. Surely that would be better than – than what he felt Martin feeling in that flat?

A sudden chill tears him out of his anguished reverie and looks up to see fog curling from the gap under the door. In half a moment he’s on his feet and at the door, his chair toppling to the floor with a crash. He whips the door open, desperate not to be too late, and outside is –

No one. No one is outside, only a gentle fog lapping at his feet, already dissolving.

**Author's Note:**

> If I missed any tags, please tell me and I will add them.


End file.
